


The Nature of Evil

by Zoop (zoop526)



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dubious Honor, Dubious Morality, Gen, Honor, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2014-06-13
Packaged: 2018-02-04 12:24:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1779013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoop526/pseuds/Zoop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One-shot morality tale, set in no particular place or time. Wherein Evil is measured by the degree of worth possessed by its victim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Nature of Evil

Battle raged all over the mountain, a conflict begun in a past age and doomed to continue into the next. Men and Orcs strove for supremacy, hungering for dominance, thirsty for blood. In the deep passes, on the high peaks, in the depths of cavernous underground cities, and on the narrow paths winding and criss-crossing up and down the mountain's sides, the combatants gained and lost ground.

On one such slender perch, an Orc and Man traded blows. They were well-matched, evenly skilled, and neither was able to gain ground on the other. Their battle was one of futility, and both knew it. Only weariness could tip the scale in one or the other's favor.

So old was this mountain, that its sides were crumbling. Finally succumbing to the violent pounding of so many feet, the ledge on which they stood broke into pieces, sending the Orc and the Man tumbling down the slope to another ledge yards below.

The Orc was fortunate; his feet found the ledge, but the Man was not so blessed. He hung over the edge by his fingers, his feet scrabbling desperately for purchase.

After a brief hesitation, the Orc offered the Man his hand.

"Come along," he grumbled, leaning down. "I'll not be givin' up yer blood to the mountain. Up yuh git."

The Man stared into the Orc's beady red eyes for a moment, then gave in and accepted his foe's aid. The Orc's great strength was little taxed by the Man's weight, and soon he was standing beside his enemy once more.

"Have a breather," the Orc told him, leaning against the rock wall. "Got yer sword still, _tark?_ "

"Nay," the Man said, shaking his head and eying the Orc warily. The Orc merely nodded.

"Fists, then, eh?" he shrugged, sheathing his blade and assuming a fighting stance.

Before the Man could respond, the ledge on which they stood broke in pieces beneath their feet. Once again, they tumbled down several yards. This time, it was the Orc who found himself dangling while the Man stood above him, gazing down at his hapless enemy.

No words were spoken. The Orc's expression transformed from expectation to betrayal as the Man lifted his booted foot and brought it down with crushing force on the Orc's fingers. Once, twice, thrice, until the Orc could no longer hold on, for his fingers were shattered.

As the Orc fell screaming curses into the deep abyss, the Man turned away, the Orc already forgotten. His mind bent on securing a weapon and rejoining his fellows, the Man followed the precarious ledge back up the mountain.

* * *

When the Man departed from this world, his face was lined with age and care. All about him were his sons and daughters, grandchildren and friends. He passed peacefully in his sleep, his widow holding his hand and softly weeping. A gentle smile graced his face in death, for he'd lived a full life, content that all the deeds of his lifetime were fair, honorable, and just.


End file.
